


Subtle and Nuanced

by PhiraLovesLoki



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, passing notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 16:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12391710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiraLovesLoki/pseuds/PhiraLovesLoki
Summary: Killian Jones has an unusual relationship with a neighbor in which they exchange notes via cat. He’s also slowly falling for his flower shop’s newest customer. Surely these two things are unrelated.





	Subtle and Nuanced

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thejollypirate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejollypirate/gifts).



> Happy birthday, @thejollypirate! I’ve owed you this story for ages, so this seemed like the best time to finally get it to you! Welcome to adulthood, it’s the worst, I’m sorry. Thank you to @lifeinahole27 for reading this over!
> 
> Content warning: Pet sickness and a trip to the veterinarian.

As far as Killian was concerned, it was Liam’s fault. When the window had first gotten stuck, and Killian had mentioned he was going to phone the landlord, Liam had told him not to bother, that he would fix it himself. He  _ was _ relatively handy, and it was always easier to do minor repairs and bill the landlord for materials than it was to call and wait and wait and wait for the man to send someone over. And so Killian had agreed, and waited for his brother to fix it.

But of course, Liam kept forgetting. After all, the window wasn’t in  _ his _ bedroom, so it was easy to forget the damn thing wouldn’t shut. And when Killian would remind him, he’d either make an excuse about how late in the evening it was, or how busy he was, or make a comment like  _ It’s July, Killian, it’s not as though it’s cold out, you’ll live another day. _

And then of course, Liam’s boss had to back out of an extended, weeks-long business trip at the last minute, and the only person who could replace him was Liam. And after dropping him off at the airport, Killian returned to find a huge gash in the screen of his bedroom window. Now, not only did the damn thing not close, but now all manner of insects could get inside the room as well.

All manner of insects and, he discovered, the culprit.

The flat he and Liam shared was on the top floor of a three-storey building; each floor consisted of two flats, and all but the top floor had covered front and rear porches. His bedroom window, along with the kitchen windows, were over the roof of the second floor rear porch. It was high enough up that a burglar would have to be creative and athletic to break in, and so at first, he was confused as to who had cut the screen and then not stolen anything after going through the effort.

Until he woke up the next day to find a cat snuggled up against him in his bed.

According to the tag on the collar he wore, the cat’s name was Henry. But the tag was useless otherwise, lacking any information on the cat’s owner. And so he grabbed the cat, shoved it—gently—through the hole in the screen, and got ready for work.

When he returned home that evening, he found several items that had been pushed off of the counter in the kitchen, and those were definitely claw marks on Liam’s favorite armchair. Killian found Henry hiding quite happily in a cardboard box; back through the hole in the screen he went.

Henry didn’t get the message. He was back the next day, waking Killian up with a headbutt to the face, and welcoming him home later that day with a knocked-over rubbish bin.

The following day, Killian thought he might finally be free of his new, unwelcome visitor. He awoke in the morning in a blissfully cat-free bedroom, and returned home from the shop to find everything as he’d left it. He still resolved to call the landlord about fixing the window, but at least Henry had finally gotten the memo.

Except that he clearly hadn’t, as Killian nearly tripped on him on his way to the bathroom the following morning.

As Henry made himself at home in the messy sheets, Killian dug a pen and a pad of sticky notes out of the junk drawer in the kitchen, and scribbled down a note.

_ Your beloved cat seems to think he lives in my apartment. Please disabuse him of this notion. - KJ _

Once he managed to wrangle the cat, he shoved the wadded up note under the collar and pushed Henry back out onto the roof.

The following morning, unfortunately, he woke up to the sensation of Henry trying to find a comfortable spot atop him, presumably directly atop his bladder. At first, he was dismayed to see the note still present under the collar; perhaps Henry was now a stray and far from home. But no, the color of the note was different. He fished it out, at which point Henry dashed off into the living room.

_ Sorry, I’ve been trying to keep him in our place, but my roommate keeps letting him out. I’ve talked to her a million times with no luck. - ES _

Killian wasn’t sure whether to be pleased that, at the very least, he’d gotten in touch with Henry’s owner, or dismayed that alerting them to the issue hadn’t resolved it.

_ Please try harder, I’d rather not have to invest in a litter box. - KJ _

The following day, Henry was gone, lulling Killian into a false sense of security, which was shattered the day after.

_ A plastic bin with litter in it will suffice if you don’t want to spend the $$$ while we figure this out. - ES _

Henry seemed mildly amused by the situation as Killian shoved another note under his collar.

_ I honestly don’t know why he keeps visiting me. I have no food or entertainment here. I’m not even home most of the day. - KJ _

He read the next note over dinner that evening.

_ Sounds like you’re quite the loner, KJ, and could use the company. - ES _

Well, perhaps he didn’t have many guests over, and it had been a while since he’d been on a date. But he got his fill of human interaction at the shop, and when Liam was home, there was hardly any time for him to be alone.

Either way, he let Henry stay until he went to bed.

_ Loner or not, Henry needs to learn that he requires an invitation. Hopefully I can convince the landlord to repair the point of entry. - KJ _

The following morning, Henry arrived with the reply.

_ Ho boy, getting the landlord to fix a problem? Good luck with that, buddy. In the meantime, please accept this apology. - ES _

The note had been wrapped around a small piece of chocolate. He chuckled as he scribbled his reply.

_ Apology accepted. - KJ _

* * *

Once Killian got to the shop the next morning, he quickly called the landlord. As much as the chocolate had mollified him, Henry was not his cat, and he wasn’t supposed to have animals in the apartment. The window needed to be repaired.

_ You’ve reached Silver Management. We are currently on vacation through the end of August. If you need emergency repairs, please call … _

And of course, a broken screen and window of a top floor flat would not be considered an emergency; he hung up in frustration just as a customer walked in. “Good morning,” he said, trying to infuse his voice with cheer. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, just looking,” the woman replied. “You guys always have such nice displays.”

He tried not to let his disappointment show; the shop was doing well enough that window shoppers weren’t exactly a problem, but the point of the displays was to inspire those window shoppers to be paying customers. Perhaps next time. “Thank you very much,” he said, making sure to smile. “They’re showing off some of our customers’ favorite in-season flowers.”

The woman blushed. “I don’t really know anything about flowers,” she admitted. “I kind of assumed that they all just bloomed in the spring and stayed that way till fall.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of.” He stepped out from behind the counter. “In fact, many flowers are what we call repeat bloomers, since they bloom regularly from spring to fall, as you’d expect.” He gestured at a display of roses. “Many species of roses in particular are repeat bloomers, which is one of the reasons they’re popular year-round. Orchids, meanwhile, prefer the heat and humidity.” He waved her over to the display of potted orchids. “So while you can purchase orchids year-round, thanks to greenhouses and such, you might have trouble with them during colder, drier months.”

“Cool. So what else is in season?”

“Most lilies are—those are the flowers in the display. Honestly, lilies are quite versatile, with the sheer variety of species, so they’re quite popular.”

“What are these ones?”

“Ah, these are dahlias, one of my favorites. They’re considered a little more unusual these days, but they were once so popular in Europe that theft of their tubers was quite common.”

She leaned in and took a whiff, before frowning in confusion. “Huh.”

“The majority of these don’t have a scent,” he explained.

“Oh. Well, what’s your favorite scented one?”

A question he received quite frequently, and one he had a nice, boring answer to. “You can’t go wrong with roses,” he said almost automatically, “although jasmine is also quite lovely as well. And of course, there’s a reason why gardenias are so popular as a perfume scent.”

But instead of nodding along, the woman squinted at him, like he’d said something particularly strange. “You’re lying,” she said flatly.

“Excuse me?” He’d had customers complain that he’d overcharged for arrangements, and there was the one bride who’d dragged him on Yelp when he rightfully refused to refund a deposit, but he’d never been accused of  _ lying _ .

“You’re lying,” she repeated, as though it were obvious. “None of those are your favorite.” She crossed her arms. “So what’s the deal?”

“I don’t know what to say. I quite like those flowers.”

“You gave me, like, a canned answer, like any salesperson would. Pretend I’m not a potential customer and try again.” She raised an eyebrow expectantly.

He nearly opened his mouth to repeat the list:  _ Roses, jasmine, gardenias. _ But she was right; those were practiced responses, designed to fit in with customer expectations and result in sales he knew they’d be satisfied with. So what was his favorite scented flower for real?

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, taking in all of the scents around him. “Boronia,” he finally said.

“Boronia?”

“Boronia.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s Australian.” He opened his eyes. “We don’t carry it, as it can be too challenging to cultivate and like you, the majority of our clientele has never heard of it and never asks for it.”

“Oh.” She looked disappointed. “Do you have anything that smells similar?”

“Aye, well, it has a fruity scent, and I’d say my favorite similarly scented flower we carry is freesia.” He stepped over to the fridge with some arrangements, and pulled out one of the smaller bouquets.

She took it delicately, as though she’d never held a bouquet of flowers before, and leaned in, taking a very gently sniff. “Oh.” She sniffed again. “Yeah, this smells really awesome.”

“It’s reasonably popular, although generally among folks who are specifically interested in this particular sort of scent. Otherwise, people tend to prefer something a little less …”

“Twee?” she supplied.

“I suppose. They’re just not as grand as roses.”

“I guess.” She glanced down at the bouquet she was still holding. “How much is this?”

“Fifty-four.”

“Dollars?” she asked, eyes wide. “Oh, never mind.”

“Sorry.” He anxiously scratched the back of his ear with his prosthesis. “Well … perhaps if you could wait a few minutes?”

In the back room, he quickly made his way to the refrigerator that contained the rest of the freesia. In no time at all, he’d fashioned a very small bouquet of purple freesia, wrapped in some purple ribbon he had left over from another arrangement.

The woman raised an eyebrow when he returned and handed over the little bouquet. “Twenty,” he offered. “Not that you’d be obligated to purchase it, but—”

“Oh, wow, that’s—no, I’ll buy it.”

“Really, it’s not—”

“No, it’s—I know just who to give it to, too.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t expecting to feel disappointed at making a sale. “Well, come on over to the register, love, and we’ll get you sorted.”

Getting her sorted took no time at all; by the time he’d finished wrapping the little bouquet in plastic, she’d already fished a twenty dollar bill out to pay him. “Thanks very much.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You know, for making something small enough for me to afford it.”

“Of course.”

“Do you mind—well, never mind.”

“What is it?”

“Can you write down the name of the flower for me? The one you like better than this?”

“Boronia?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course.” He pulled out a business card and quickly scribbled the word down before handing it over.

“Thanks.” She pocketed the card with a smile. “Well … have a good one.”

“You as well. Hope to see you again.”

Her eyes lit up at that, and she nodded. “You too.”

* * *

The rest of the week continued on as the previous one did, with Henry continuing to show up. Killian attempted to replace the screen with a screen from another window in the flat, but unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to remove the only other screen that was the same size. It appeared as though he would have to wait the final four weeks for Liam to come home, or for the landlord’s vacation to end, before he could free himself of his uninvited visitor.

Granted, Henry’s presence wasn’t  _ all _ bad. Each visit brought a new note, and sometimes even a little gift. Usually, it was chocolate, but tonight, there was a nip of rum instead.

_ Happy Friday! - ES _

Happy Friday indeed. He’d spent the whole evening preparing for a wedding the following day, and he hadn’t had time to go to the liquor store on his way home. He toasted the mysterious ES as he downed the shot.

_ And to you as well. I’d return the favor, but my liquor cabinet is empty. But the rum was very much appreciated. - KJ _

He had another busy day on Saturday, driving the flowers to the venue, and then returning to prepare for another wedding. He’d been holed up in the back room all afternoon, but when he wandered out into the storefront to find some ribbon he vaguely recalled leaving out near the registers, he spotted a figure hanging around outside, peering in through the windows.

It was the woman from last week, the one he’d made the tiny freesia bouquet for. She spotted him and waved a little hesitantly.

He pushed open the door and smiled. “Hello, love. Sorry, we’re closed today.”

“Yeah, I saw.  _ Closed for an Event, _ but it doesn’t look too lively in here.”

“Not an event here,” he explained with a chuckle. “Wedding tomorrow that we’re providing flowers for. I’m preparing as much as I can tonight, and then tomorrow I’ll drive it over to the venue.”

“Oh, okay, that makes sense.” But she made no move to leave. “So you’re definitely closed?”

“Definitely.”

She shifted back and forth on her feet slightly. “So you wouldn’t be able to throw together another little bouquet for a customer?”

He knew he should say no, not because he didn’t have the time or resources, but because it would set a precedent. The last thing he needed was for customers to learn that Jones Flowers wasn’t always  _ really _ closed when they said they were, and then to leave angry Yelp reviews when he didn’t let them into the closed shop.

But the woman looked so shyly earnest. A week ago, she’d walked in, clearly uncertain about being a customer, and now she was eager to give him more business. And would a gentleman say no to a damsel?

He would most certainly not.

“Of course, love. Come on in. What can I do for you?”

She blushed a little, but otherwise looked almost determined. “Flowers have meanings, right?”

“Aye, that they do.”

“So you could make a bouquet that looked nice, or one that smelled nice, or one that meant something in particular?”

“Absolutely. Or all three.”

She nodded. “So, uh … I kind of need a bouquet that means, like … ‘I like you.’”

He didn’t much like the twinge of disappointment that ran through him, even as the professional part of his mind began running through the potential flowers. “And does the person currently know they are so admired?”

“Uh, no.”

“I’m sure they will once they see this bouquet,” he said, forcing himself into florist mode so he could forget that twinge. “Just give me a few moments, aye?”

When he returned to the storefront with the bouquet, she eyed it with interest. “Huh, interesting color scheme.”

He smiled and pointed to each species one by one. “Asters, for love and patience. Ranunculus, which means something along the lines of, ‘You’re attractive,’ or, ‘I quite fancy you.’” She chuckled, and his smiled widened before he continued. “Daffodils have a few meanings, but one of them is sort of … ‘Please return my affections,’ or similar. And this particular shade of rose represents love at first sight; it tends to be a softer sort of representation of love than a red rose would, if you’re anxious about coming on too strong.”

“Wow. You really know your flower meanings.”

“That  _ is _ my job.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, this is really pretty.”

“I aim to please.”

“Uh, how much?”

Right, this was a business transaction. He’d constructed this bouquet for this woman so she could pass it on to someone else and alert them to her affections. He cleared his throat. “Thirty for this one, if that’s all right.”

“Hey, you’re not even open, and you still made this for me,” she pointed out, as she fished out her wallet. “So yeah, thirty’s all right.” Once again, she paid in cash; there was no credit card for him to glean her name off of. Not that it mattered—she was here buying flowers for someone else.

“You’ll have to let me know if it’s effective,” he said as he handed her her change and the wrapped bouquet.

She gave him a long stare before smiling. “Yeah, I’ll let you know. Might be too subtle and nuanced for them, to be honest.”

She left before he could ask how flowers could ever be a subtle or nuanced way to announce one’s affections. And besides, he had wedding flowers to finish. After checking to make sure the  _ Closed for an Event _ sign was still clearly displayed, he locked the front door and wandered back into the back room.

There was one last lavender-colored rose on his workbench. Love at first sight indeed. He sighed and got back to work.

* * *

Killian couldn’t deny that he was a little pleased to find Henry waiting for him when he returned home Sunday after his delivery. Perhaps ES was right and he  _ was _ a little too lonely. Either way, whether it was the cat or the note he carried, it was enjoyable having some semblance of company, with Liam still gone for another few weeks. He stroked Henry while he wound down with some mindless television, resolving to pick up some treats on his way to or from the shop tomorrow.

Throughout the week, the notes from ES were also a welcome distraction from the emptiness he felt regarding his mysterious new customer. He’d met the woman twice, had never learned her name, and hadn’t even given her much thought as more than a customer until she’d mentioned needing the bouquet for someone else. It was absurd that he would feel such a loss, and so he could do nothing except pretend that it didn’t.

The notes never got personal, which he had to admit was as much his doing as it was ES’s. Their handwriting wasn’t exactly neat, but was still strangely ordered; he couldn’t tell their gender based on it. Nothing they ever said gave any indication of what they did for a living, what their hobbies or interests were, or which nearby apartment they lived in.

But it was company nonetheless, and Killian enjoyed it.

_ Roommate bought an absurd amount of chewing gum at Costco, please enjoy some. -ES _

_ Hope you have air conditioning because this weather sucks - ES _

_ Thirsty Thursday, have some vodka! - ES _

By the time the weekend rolled around, he’d successfully gotten his mind off of his newest customer. That is, until she stepped into the shop around closing time on Saturday.

“Oh.” He silently cursed himself for his heart’s reaction, which was to beat loudly in his ears. “Welcome back, love. How did the bouquet go over?”

“Hi,” she replied, and then she pursed her lips and shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t think it worked.”

“Too subtle?” She nodded. How on earth could that bouquet have been too subtle? “Well, perhaps we could do something a little bolder.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” she said. “Like … maybe something …” She blushed. “Sexier?”

“Sexier?” he echoed.

“Yeah, like …” She gestured vaguely with her hands. “Okay, like, the roses from last time, you said that shade meant love at first sight. Is there one that means … you know, something sexy? Or other flowers like that?”

“Aye, just—yeah, just give me a few minutes?”

She beamed. “Take your time.”

But he didn’t need much time. He knew exactly which flowers would do the trick, and a few minutes later, he returned with a bouquet only slightly larger than last week’s. “Rose, tuberose, and sweet pea.”

“Sweet pea?” she asked, voice heavy with skepticism. “No offense, but that sounds like it would have been better in the other bouquet.”

“No offense taken, but don’t let the name fool you.” He handed her the bouquet so she could examine it more closely. “Sweet pea is for bliss or pleasure.”

“And this color rose is for?”

“Desire. Which is excellent because it goes so well with the sweet pea in terms of color.”

“What’s this one?” she asked, pointing at the last bloom. She leaned in to smell and he took note of the subtle dilation of her pupils as she straightened back up.

“Tuberose. It blooms at night and the scent is said to inflame the desires. Its reputation is such that historically, young women were advised to avoid the scent, lest they give in to their lusts.”

“Wow.” She blushed at the description. “So I guess this  _ is _ a sexy bouquet.”

“Well, you’ll have to let me know if it’s effective.”

She gave him an appraising look. “Yeah, I’ll let you know. How much?”

He gritted his teeth before replying. “Forty.”

As he wrapped the bouquet, she handed over two twenty dollar bills. “Thanks so much.”

“My pleasure,” he replied. She smiled brightly, took another sniff of the bouquet, and gave him a nod before heading outside.

As he closed up the shop for the evening, the heady scent of tuberose hung around him like an aura. Whatever success he’d had ignoring his growing attraction to this woman had been undermined by this relatively short interaction. He could only hope that this bouquet would garner her success, that the object of her affections would notice just how beautiful she was and reciprocate her interest, and that she would stop coming to the shop. Then, perhaps, he could forget about her.

* * *

 

Sunday night, ES’s note was a bit unusual.  _ I’m bored, _ they said.  _ Let’s play. One letter a day, and no cheating. - ES _

Below, there was a doodle of a gallows, and a slew of dashes:

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ , _ _ _ _ _ _ _ , _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ , _ _ _    _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

Well, it wasn’t as though he had plans. And it would be a nice way to once again get his mind off of his customer.

He quickly grabbed a fresh sticky note and jotted down his reply.

_ E for my first letter. Is there a prize for winning? - KJ _

When he went to bed, he stuck his note as well as the original doodle back under Henry’s collar, gave him a solid few minutes of ear and chin scritches, and sent him on his way.

Monday after work, he eagerly unwrapped the notes before feeding Henry some dinner. He was pleased to find no beginnings of a stick figure on the gallows, but surprised that there were still plenty of blank spaces:

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ , _ _ EE _ _ _ , _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ , _ _ _    _ _ _ E _ _ _ E

_ Off to an okay start, boring that you picked the most common letter though. - ES _

He shook his head and examined the patterns a bit. A three letter word without an E in it? He’d bet money that it was  _ and. _ He stuck the doodle and his note under the collar and called it a night.

_ A for my second letter. You never answered my question, though. What do I win if I win? - KJ _

He was two for two, he learned the next day, even though once again, there didn’t seem to be many blanks revealed.

_ _ _ _ _ _ A , _ _ EE _ _ A , _ A _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ , A _ _    _ _ _ E _ _ _ E

_ Not sure what you’d win, since I clearly send you prizes on the regular anyway. - ES _

To be fair, they  _ had _ sent Henry over with a nip of whiskey tucked under his collar.

The rest of the week dragged on, the strange game of hangman becoming a focal point, and he would spend his time in the shop watching the clock ever so slowly reach closing time. Closing time meant he could go home and see if his newest letter was somewhere in the sentence or phrase, but it also meant another day without seeing his newest customer.

He felt no small amount of guilt over it, since he  _ wanted _ to see her again, and as a small business owner, it was blasphemous to wish to never see a pleasant paying customer ever again. But he had never become so attracted to someone so quickly, and given that someone else had caught her eye, there was no hope for him.

Saturday, he’d quickly copied out the hangman message to bring to work with him so he could brainstorm his next letter.

_ O _ ONIA , _ _ EE _ IA , _ AN _ N _ _ _ _ _ , AND   _ _ _ E _ O _ E

None of the words looked remotely familiar; the middle one in particular looked to be quite the unknown. It must have the letter U in it, given that he’d already guessed the rest of the vowels, but for the life of him, he couldn’t make sense of what the word could be.

He heard the shop bell ring as he decided he would just have to guess a common letter. As it stood, the only letter he’d gotten wrong was Y, so he had plenty of room left for some mistakes. “Afternoon,” he said, and then he looked up.

His heart skipped a beat; it was her. “Oh, hello, love.” His throat was suddenly dry.

“Hi, how’s it going?”

“Well, thank you. How did the bouquet go over?” Even though he hadn’t worked with any tuberose at all since he’d seen her, he could suddenly smell it in the air as though the blooms were right in front of him.

She frowned, to his dismay. “I don’t know,” she said. “Honestly, I can’t get a read on this guy.”

Ah, a man. “Are you sure he appreciates flowers?”

“Oh, he does,” she said with certainty. “He really does.”

“Forgive me for asking. It’s just not that common, I suppose.”

She cocked her head. “Well, I mean,  _ you _ like flowers, right?”

He chuckled. “Aye, I do. I’d be in the wrong business otherwise.”

“What’s your favorite one?”

“Hm?”

“Like, you could only get a bouquet with one kind of flower. What’s your favorite one? What would you want?”

“I should warn you that his taste and mine might be wildly different.”

“Come on.” She leveled an impatient look at him. “What’s your favorite flower? I’ll go first; I like buttercups.” She raised her left hand, showing off what was unmistakably a buttercup tattoo. “Now, you go.”

He sighed. It truly wasn’t an easy question for any florist to answer. There was his favorite scent, which was boronia, as he’d mentioned to her. He adored roses for their versatility and variety. He loved the challenge of cultivating orchids, and the satisfaction when he was successful.

But his favorite flower? The one he was always pleased to sell, the one he put into as many displays as possible? “Lilies,” he said, as though he were sharing some dark, personal secret.

“Lilies?” she asked, before turning towards the displays in the windows. “Oh, you took them down.”

She’d remembered the display from the first time she’d come in; he tried not to read into it. “Aye, well, there are still lilies in the displays. It’s just not, you know, an entirely-lily display anymore.”

“Fair.” She turned back to him. “Okay, I’d like a lily bouquet then.”

“Er, what kind?”

“Oh.” She winced. “I didn’t realize there were more than one kind.”

“That’s all right, love,” he reassured her. “It’s my job to know, not yours.” He waved her over to a display. “We have Peruvian lilies, which are what you saw in the display a few weeks ago. We also have more traditional lilies in a variety of colors.” He pointed them out. “And then we also carry calla lilies, which look a bit different.”

“Can I see?”

“One moment, of course.” He brought out a few samples from the back room.

“Oh, cool.”

“Aye, the shape is quite interesting.”

“I like these and these other ones.” She pointed at the white calla lily, and then at a Madonna lily in a bouquet nearby.

“Well, give me a few minutes then?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

“Do you want it to be just lilies?”

She shook her head. “Nah, I trust you.”

He chuckled. “Even if my other bouquets have failed to win over your intended?”

She laughed. “Yeah, I still trust you.”

“Well … thanks, I suppose.” And before he could embarrass himself further, he ducked into the back to get to work.

“Oh, this is really pretty,” she said when he brought out the resulting bouquet. “Okay, so the two kinds of lilies, got it. But what are these other flowers?”

“Gardenias. Lilies don’t have a particularly strong scent, whereas gardenias do, and a pleasant one at that.”

She took a whiff. “Oh, yeah, I like it. Good call.” She looked up with a smile. “How much?”

He shook his head. “Honestly, just let me know how it goes.”

“Uh, I’m going to pay you,” she said firmly.

“You can pay me for the next one.”

“No, I—”

“You’ve been a surprisingly loyal and frequent customer,” he pointed out. “And it’s been a delight talking about flowers with you. As I said, I promise to charge you for the next bouquet. But you wanted me to make one with my favorite flowers, so …” He sighed. “Just, take it, all right?”

She opened her mouth to argue, before sighing. “All right. Fine. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Excellent.”

She left, and the swirl of the scent of gardenias remained in her wake. It reminded him of just how foolish he really was. He wanted to get over his little infatuation, and here he was, giving her free flowers to give to another man. Here he was, telling her to come back and update him on her love life.

Here he was, breathing in the scent of gardenia, the flower of secret love.

He was a bloody fool.

Henry was waiting for him when he returned home; he quickly fed him and scribbled his reply note to ES.

_ S for my next letter. I have no bloody clue what you’ve spelled out. Suspect it might not be English. - KJ _

It was comforting to have Henry curl up in his lap as he tried to distract himself with television and the nip of whiskey ES had delivered earlier in the week.

Perhaps he should invite ES out for a drink. Platonically, of course. Clearly, living alone while Liam was away and living like a hermit was affecting him severely if he was this head over heels for a customer he’d met all of four times and whose name he didn’t even know.

“That’s all it is, Henry,” he said to the cat. “I just crave social interaction. And who knows? Perhaps if your owner is a fetching lass, that might help.”

Henry did not seem to care, and responded by stretching out, swatting at Killian’s knee, and then hopping off his lap entirely to go investigate the boxes Killian had set up for him to play with.

When he finally went to bed, he carefully pushed Henry out the window with the new note tucked in his collar, no mention of drinks in sight. But there was no need; he would solve the hangman puzzle, and ask to meet up as his prize. Easy and subtle, and no stranger than two people playing hangman using a cat as a go-between.

No stranger than falling in love with a woman whose name he didn’t even know.

* * *

The following morning was Sunday, his day off, when he expected to wake up late with Henry curled up somewhere on the bed. But instead, he woke up alone, earlier than usual, to someone ringing the doorbell.

He froze, anxiety flooding him. Who on earth would be at the door on a Sunday morning? Or continuing to ring the doorbell over and over? His phone on the nightstand was on and fully charged; if this were an emergency, he should be receiving a phone call, not a visitor.

But the doorbell did not abate.

He regulated his breathing as best he could as he pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and slipped on a pair of shoes, before making his way downstairs to the front door.

He had never been as shocked in his life as he was when he opened the door to find his customer, tears streaming down her face as she clutched none other than Henry to her chest.

“I’ll explain later but something’s really wrong with Henry and my car won’t start, and I need to get to the vet, and my roommate isn’t home and I didn’t know who else to ask,” she blurted out, squeezing her eyes shut, almost as though she were in physical pain.

His mind, fuzzy from being woken up in such an abrupt and startling manner, struggled to make sense of what he was seeing and hearing. It was  _ her, _ his customer whose name he didn’t know, whom he’d been falling in love with, but she was holding Henry, ES’s cat, and somehow knew where he lived.

“I … bloody—I mean—”

It was not the most eloquent moment of his life, and she didn’t appear to have the patience to deal with it. “Look, Killian,  _ please, _ I know I owe you an explanation, but  _ please, _ he’s really sick!”

It was then that he realized that Henry was  _ indeed _ quite ill. He lay in the woman’s arms lethargically, drooling on her shirt.

They had to get Henry to the vet. “Wait here while I grab my keys,” he said. She nodded, bottom lip trembling.

Once in the car, she had the presence of mind to give him the name of the animal hospital to enter into his GPS, but otherwise, the only sounds she made were quiet gasps for air as she tried to stop crying. Luckily, the timing was right; all of the Sunday drivers were at church already, leaving the roads empty enough that they made it to the hospital within fifteen minutes. And without asking, or having her ask, he followed her inside to the front desk.

“Hi, my cat—he’s suddenly super sick,” she said as soon as they approached the receptionist.

“Okay, sweetheart, just breathe, okay?” the woman replied. “Have you been here before?”

“Yeah, we see a vet here.”

“What’s your name, honey?”

“Emma. Emma Swan.”

As she—Emma—began to describe Henry’s symptoms to the receptionist, Killian couldn’t help but chuckle a little. Emma Swan. ES. There it was.

“Just have a seat, all right? We’ll send someone to come get you shortly.”

“How shortly?” Emma asked.

“As soon as possible.”

“Come on, love,” Killian said, touching her arm gently. “I’m sure it’ll be soon.”

She was shaking as they sat down in the waiting area, which was mercifully empty of any other pets or their owners. Henry’s demeanor hadn’t changed; while Killian was relieved he hadn’t worsened, it was still distressing to see the normally active and athletic feline lying limply in his owner’s arms.

“Thank you,” Emma whispered.

“Of course.”

“You could have slammed the door in my face.”

“Wouldn’t have been very gentlemanly of me.” Her face screwed up, and he quickly realized his mistake. “Not that I’m only here out of sense of duty,” he clarified.

“You’re here for Henry,” she said softly, and she sniffled loudly as she stroked his fur. “I appreciate that.”

“Just because I’m surprised doesn’t mean I’m not here for both of you.”

“Henry?” A technician had appeared in front of them. “We’re ready for you.”

In the examination room, Emma relayed the same information to the technician as she’d provided to the receptionist: about an hour after she’d woken up and fed Henry, she’d noticed he was drooling and vomiting, and had even peed on the carpet instead of in his litter box.

“You fed him his normal food?” the tech asked.

“Yeah, same as always.”

“Is there anything unusual he could have eaten lately?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What’s this on his collar?”

“Oh.” Emma’s face was already red from crying, but she flushed even more before quickly fumbling for the notes. “That’s—that’s nothing. This is my neighbor.” She nodded at Killian. “Henry likes to go over to his place, so we exchange notes and stuff that way.”

“And stuff?”

“Like, chocolate sometimes.”

“Or alcohol,” Killian added.

“Has he had any diarrhea?” the tech asked.

“No, no diarrhea,” Emma confirmed.

“Okay. That’s good.” She frowned. “Let me get the vet, okay?”

Left alone in the room, Killian paused before reaching out to rub her shoulder. It felt strangely forward, given that before this morning, she’d been an unattainable customer. But she was ES, his friend, and he wanted to comfort her. “I’m sorry, darling. I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“I hope so.” She wiped her nose on her arm. “I just—look, I’m sorry.”

“I’m glad you came and got me.”

“No, no, not for that. The flower stuff.”

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘What?’ I’ve been coming into your store every week.”

“No, I know, just—why are you apologizing?”

She shrugged as she pet Henry. “I knew you were the person Henry was hanging out with and I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh.” Well, it was certainly a little odd. And he supposed if he’d found out another way, he might feel frustration or even anger. But with Henry ill, it was as though he’d moved straight into accepting the situation. “Nothing to apologize for, but I forgive you if it’ll make you feel better.”

She snorted. “I was gonna tell you this morning.” She unfolded the note and smoothed it out on the examination table.

 _ O _ ONIA , _ _ EESIA , _ AN _ N _ _ _ _ S , AND   _ _ _ E _ OSE

_ Here’s a clue for you. - ES _

With the letter S, it was now unbelievably obvious, as his mind filled in the blanks:

BORONIA, FREESIA, RANUNCULUS, AND TUBEROSE

Had she not shown up this morning, this would have been a dead giveaway. Although, “Wait, what clue?”

“Oh, the … uh …” She frowned as she examined Henry’s collar. “I guess it fell off. I put one of the lilies in his collar this morning.”

His heart dropped. “Oh, bloody  _ hell.” _

“Bloody hell what?”

There was a knock at the door, and then the vet stepped in. “Hi, folks. I hear Henry here isn’t feeling well.”

“He ate a lily,” Killian said. “Bloody hell, he ate a lily.”

“Oh.” The vet scanned the chart. “Yeah, this is all consistent with lily poisoning, actually. How certain are you?”

“Very.” Bloody hell, bloody hell,  _ bloody hell. _

“I don’t get it,” Emma said.

“Most species of lily are extremely toxic to cats,” the vet explained. “Now, there are many species of lily, and some aren’t toxic at all. Can you describe what these flowers looked like?”

“He’s a florist,” Emma said.

“Emma, which kind was it? Calla lily or Madonna lily?”

“Uh …” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I don’t remember the names, but it was whichever one had multiple petals, not the one that looked like a bell.”

“Madonna lily,” he confirmed. “ _ Lilium candidum. _ Definitely toxic.”

“Okay,” the vet said. “How long ago could he have ingested it?”

“Like, max two hours ago.”

“And he vomited?” Emma nodded. “Did you see any floral debris?”

“I didn’t check.”

“That’s okay. From what you’ve told me, it definitely sounds like lily poisoning, and it sounds like we caught it early enough.” Emma visibly relaxed. “We’re going to take care of him, okay?”

The vet explained what would happen—that they’d try to induce vomiting again, then give him charcoal to try to absorb any more toxins. But when the vet told her that Henry would have to stay for one or two nights, Emma began to shake visibly. When it was time for Henry to go to another part of the hospital for treatment, and for Killian and Emma to leave, it was as though the room suddenly did not have enough air. Emma began to cry again as she pet and kissed Henry, and when Killian reached down to give his feline friend a reassuring pat, he found his own vision swimming from unshed tears.

Once they were in the car, Emma began crying in earnest, and his heart broke a little. “Stay with me tonight,” he said gently. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Okay.”

Back in his flat, he sat her down on the couch before scrambling to find a box of tissues for her. By the time he returned, though, she was nowhere to be found. Had she gone to the loo?

When he went to check, he spotted her, standing in the doorway of his bedroom, hugging herself with her arms, and staring at the open window. “So, like … you can’t close it?” she asked.

“No. My brother—my roommate—kept promising to repair it, but he kept forgetting. And he’s been on a business trip for over a month now.”

“Where’s the screen?”

“A small gray cat put a hole in it,” he said gently.

She drew in a shuddering breath, and then sighed.

“Come on, lass.” She wordlessly followed him back to the living room.

“So you knew it was me?” he asked, once he’d gotten her a glass of water.

“Yeah, I’d seen you around the neighborhood, and then I saw you in the shop while I was walking by and I recognized you.”

“No, I mean—that I was the person Henry was visiting.”

“Oh.” She blushed. “Well, you wrote down boronia for me. I recognized your handwriting. And that’s how I knew your name, ‘cause you wrote it on a business card.”

“I wrote …” Oh, but she was right. That very first meeting, he’d written it down on a business card at her request. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I dunno, I felt creepy. You didn’t recognize me so I felt weird about it.”

“Understandable. But I suppose you were about to reveal yourself with this whole game of hangman. And the lily,” he added lamely.

“Yeah, well, look how well  _ that _ went.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Henry’s going to be fine, you know.” He sighed. “I just wish I’d known. Or I should have told you. You’re not the expert; I am. I’m the one who’s supposed to know what species are toxic and share that information with customers.”

“Yeah, well, as a cat owner, I’m supposed to check these things. Like, I know he’s not supposed to have chocolate, or onions, or grapes. Stuff like that.”

“Emma,” he said firmly. “What’s important is that we know now, all right? And you heard the doctor; that he vomited and you brought him in so quickly bodes very well for him.” She smiled. “See?”

“No, it’s—” She blushed before wiping her nose with a tissue. “You said my name.”

_ Emma. _ “Well,” he said, his throat suddenly constricting with even more emotion, “I didn’t know it until today.”

She chuckled. “You know, it’s so stupid.”

“What is?”

“Like, this bouquet finally worked, but not in the way I thought.”

What? “What are you talking about?”

She gestured, still clutching the crumpled tissue. “Like, the romantic bouquet didn’t work. The sexy one didn’t work. So I tried your favorite flower, and here I am in your apartment.”

He tried to make sense of it. This bouquet had worked, and by worked, she meant it had gotten her into his flat. Which meant that the goals of the previous bouquets must have been the same thing. “But I thought you were giving them to a beau. The bouquets, I mean.”

“I never said I was giving them to anyone.”

“But you …” Had she? “Forgive me, love, but I am quite confused.”

“I wasn’t giving them to anyone,” she said. “I was hoping you’d notice the messages. Like, me liking you. Or finding you attractive. I wasn’t being very subtle!”

“You were buying flowers for someone,” he pointed out. “I assumed you were  _ giving _ them to that someone.”

“No, I kept them.” She sighed. “Look, I know you care about Henry, and we’ve got this weird note-swapping thing going on, but you don’t have to feel obligated just because I like you, okay? Today sucks already, and having you treat me weird out of pity is just the last thing I need.”

“Emma, I could have made you a bouquet of just lilies yesterday.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Okay. So?”

“So I added gardenias.”

“Right, because they smell nice. And they  _ do _ smell nice.”

“Here.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to her. “Why don’t you look them up?”

“Okay,” she said slowly. She tapped away at the phone for a bit, clearly not sure what information she was supposed to look for.

But then she must have found it, because she turned a delicate shade of pink, and she seemed to curl up into herself in embarrassment. “Really?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes, really.”

Almost instantaneously, she launched herself at him. He heard his phone fall to the ground, but he would check on it later. Right now, all that mattered was that Emma, ES, his mysterious customer, wanted to kiss him, and there was nothing more that he wanted to do than to kiss her right back.

Gardenias would no longer be an appropriate flower to give to her, now that his love for her was no longer a secret.

* * *

Killian knocked on the door with his prosthesis; a few moments later, Emma opened the door. “Hi!” she said, a bit breathlessly. “Sorry, was working on dinner. Come on in!”

After spending his day breathing in the scent of flowers, it was refreshing, if a bit jarring, to be bombarded by the smell of a homemade meal. “Smells wonderful.”

“Well, I mean … it’s a super easy recipe,” she replied as she hurried back into the kitchen. “How was your week?”

“It was fine. I do miss having this fellow pop ‘round.” He leaned down and stroked Henry’s head and back as the cat pressed against his legs.

“You know, now that your window is fixed, he’s stopped leaving the house.”

“It’s nice to know I was the only person he was interested in visiting.”

“Mmhmm. Okay, I think it’s ready if you want to have a seat.”

“Of course. Do you have a vase, though?”

“Hm?” She popped her head into the doorway, and then she blushed. “Oh my god, did you bring me flowers?”

“One of the perks of having a florist for a boyfriend.” He grinned as he pulled the bouquet from behind his back. “I think you’ll love this one.”

He’d expected to see a curious expression, since he didn’t think she’d recognize the flower he was excited about. Instead, her eyes widened. “Shit, we can’t have that here!”

“What?” He looked at the bouquet, unsure of what was so offensive about it.

“Hold on, just—hold on.” She disappeared back into the kitchen, and he could hear the sounds of pots being moved and utensils gently hitting dinnerware.

He stood awkwardly, unable to feel comfortable having a seat until he’d gotten the flowers in a vase. He examined the flowers again, and then looked around the flat. Perhaps her roommate was averse to flowers? But no; Emma had brought home four bouquets, and the only one that had been thrown out early was the final one, with the lilies. For the life of him, he could not think of a reason why she would have such a negative reaction to the bouquet.

She reappeared, wiping her hand on her forehead. “Sorry, didn’t want anything to burn.”

“It’s all right. But I’m not sure I understand your aversion to this bouquet.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, I’m quite serious.”

“I don’t know how to explain it to you without making you feel stupid.”

“That sounds quite unpleasant, but I really cannot determine the reason for your objection.”

“They’re  _ lilies, _ Killian. I can’t have lilies in the house.” Her brow furrowed, and he realized she was close to tears. “I can’t risk losing Henry again.”

“Oh, love, you know I wouldn’t do that.” He strode over to her and embraced her as best he could, still clutching the flowers. He pulled back and gave her a reassuring smile. “Peruvian lilies are  _ Alstroemeria, _ not  _ Lilium. _ They’re entirely safe for cats.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She threw her arms around his neck and sighed happily. “Oh thank god. Thank you.”

“Do you have a vase? I trimmed them before I came over.”

“Yeah, let me grab it.”

She returned to the dining room with a vase filled with water, and eagerly grabbed the bouquet from him. “Okay, the lilies I recognized. But what’s this one? No offense, but it looks weird.”

“Give it a sniff.”

She did, first delicately and then deliberately. “Oh wow. Okay, I loved the freesia and the gardenias, but this one wins.” She took another whiff. “Yeah, this smells amazing. Is this … no, this isn’t jasmine, right? What the hell is this?”

He grinned. “Boronia. Special order finally came in.”

Her mouth dropped. “You—you special ordered it for me?”

“Aye.”

She all but threw the bouquet into the vase and grabbed his hand as she dragged him in the direction of what he had to assume was her bedroom. “What about dinner?”

“I can microwave it.”

“Works for me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story! (Especially you, Suitcase.) I'd love to know what you think!


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